


Opia

by Dust_Simp



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Demon Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Demon Deals, Graphic Description, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dust_Simp/pseuds/Dust_Simp
Summary: "The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out."George swore he had never seen such beautiful eyes before in his life, and as he stared into their depths, he felt a shiver of danger and compulsiveness; he both wanted to run far away and drown in their depths for eternity.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly so thankful to the other writers who helped me write this! Im glad and would have never been able to do this without you guys! This is for you Wolf, Bella, Saph and Hallo! I love you guys!!! If only you all had AO3 LMAO

George stumbled, hands instinctively reaching out to cushion his fall against the concrete. He let out a hiss as he felt heat flow through his palms, glaring at the sight of blood dripping from the torn skin. He shook his head and focused on standing back up, yelping as sudden pain erupted throughout his knee; a swift glance down and he knew that he'd grazed it during his fall. The sudden motion of his head caused his glasses to tumble to the ground with an echoing clatter. 

George raised his head, eyes widening in fear as he heard footsteps slowly growing in pace, closer and closer, his body tensing up in response. Gaining a small amount of strength, he forced himself to move, feeling the adrenaline rush back into his veins. He pushed himself up, this time ignoring the agony searing through his knee.

George pressed on, flinching at the resonating _crack_ as he stumbled over his priceless glasses in his stupor. He knew he'd come to regret that later – well, if he even survived the night. The glasses cost a fortune, and with his low paying job, he knew they were irreplaceable for the time being. But in the end they were not worth more than his life as he pushed himself to continue to run.

With a glance back, only one word came to mind to describe the grotesque creature chasing him: _Demon_.

The lighting clearly did not work in his favor; all the lamp posts were either dim or completely out. But even with the terrible lighting, from the not-so-subtly cheap posts, George could make out some of the details of the _thing_ currently hunting him down. Its skin was a sickly grey, darkening near the tips of its fingers, where even darker claws grew. What seemed to look like a cloak whipped behind it, as though a harsh wind was blowing against it, when in reality there wasn't a single breeze. The creature was disturbingly massive; George stood proudly at 5’9”, but it easily towered over 7 feet. 

However, the most horrifying feature was, undoubtedly, the _eyes_. 

The pupils were thin and uncannily snake-like, pulsing unnaturally as if they had a mind of their own. A glow seemed to emanate from them, illuminating the rough skin around the eyes. When George had been wearing his glasses, the colour surrounding the pupil was an emerald green with flecks of gold splattered throughout it. On a normal day, George might have gone as far as to say they were beautiful, as inhuman as they looked. But without his glasses, they were an ugly yellow, and if it wasn't for the fact George was currently running for his life, he might have laughed at the irony.

In short, he was in the presence of a nightmare.

He glanced back again and felt a growing sense of hopelessness. The creature - that _thing_ \- was keeping an even pace with him; no matter how fast he ran, it was always right there, trailing behind him like an ominous, smoky shadow. His lungs burned from the exertion; admittedly, he wasn’t the most athletic person. In a time like this, George regretted ever slacking in gym class.

George snapped back to the present, forcing himself to focus on the path ahead. He couldn’t afford to drown himself in his own thoughts, especially not now. His footsteps faltered as he stared in horror at what appeared to be a dead end. He bordered on the land that was claimed by both nature and the city; trees and buildings arched overhead, and the ground underneath was becoming more rough. Directly ahead of him, the endless forest opened up to him, promising nothing but possible danger and solitude. He didn’t know these woods, but he couldn’t risk turning around and facing his hunter. So, with a raspy, determined inhale, he pressed forwards. 

Trees passed in a blur; dark forest nooks held staring eyes and hidden figures that George could only ignore. He crunched carelessly over straying branches on the ground, kicking up fallen leaves in his wake. He felt desperation claw at him and stomped down his rising panic, feeling disoriented in the strange environment. It was as if he had stepped through a portal to an unfamiliar dimension; he just had to pray that the creature was as disoriented as he was. _I just have to lose it here_ . _I only need to escape, to hide, to get away from here._

Every step George took made his knee burn; his lungs ached as he gasped for air. Blood ran down his leg as he darted through the forest, barely able to see by the dim moonlight filtering through the leaves. He crashed through the underbrush, flinching as thorns and straying branches tore at his clothes and skin, but he didn’t dare stop. He could feel the cold, predatory gaze of the two gleaming yellow eyes that traced his every move. No matter how many turns he took, no matter what path he took, George could still feel it, always there, stalking him from the shadows. Still he continued on, breath shallow, desperately wishing he was imagining things, hoping that he wasn’t being hunted. 

Over the sound of his thundering heartbeat, crunching foliage, and desperate breathing, George could make out the sound of running water in the distance. It was faint, but definitely there; a beacon that he was immediately drawn to. A new burst of adrenaline urged him to move on. 

" _You can't run forever little human~"_ The words came out as a purr, echoing unnaturally through the trees. It sounded as though multiple voices were talking, overlapping one another; in reality they originated from one being, the very thing chasing him in this moment. George felt a shudder run through his body. 

He didn't want to die. That much was obvious. He had his future before him, something to look forward to. He still hadn’t experienced so many things that he wanted to. He had barely turned 24; he had so much to look forward to! He couldn't die now. He refused to.

The sound of rushing water grew louder, the sound roaring loudly as he broke through the treeline. Before him was a stretch of sand, dirt, and small stones that lead to the relentless waves of the river. To his left, quite a distance away, a bridge stretched across the water. 

George moved a few more paces towards the water and then stopped, hunching over and leaning on his knees, gasping. Sweat dripped down his face, he felt nauseous and dizzy, his vision was blurry, and he swayed unsteadily. His lower legs were stained with his own blood and scratches lined his body; his entire body was screaming with a dull pain. He raised his head and stared at the rushing water, unfocused, a feeling of hopelessness swamping him.

He had just cornered himself.

He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the river besides his own breathing and heartbeat; but he didn’t need to hear to know what was waiting behind him. He mentally prepared himself, taking in a final, deep breath, and then turned around. 

His hunter stood at the edges of the forest, within the shadows of the trees, its piercing eyes staring unblinkingly at him. George couldn’t discern its shape from the darkness. It was a surreal experience; prey meeting predator. He was swarmed with emotions, and oddly enough, he could only feel a sense of serenity. As George stared face-to-face with the demon, he felt as if he only had one way out, one last attempt to escape. He released a shaky breath, and in one swift movement, he pivoted and made a break for the river. 

He only managed a few paces before he was knocked onto his stomach, winded and unable to breath. His vision was blurry, and he opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish before gasping heavily. His chin felt numb, and a faint taste of blood accompanied a searing pain through his tongue. He scrabbled at the loose dirt and gravel, almost out of a natural instinct more than rational thought, before he felt a firm, painful grip on his leg. 

The sudden touch snapped George out of his stupor, and he began flailing, wheezing out breathless, panicked cries. He dug his hands into the ground but was only left with handfuls of dirt as the demon began dragging him up the riverbank, towards the bridge. He kicked out with his free leg and managed to wrench himself onto his back, hissing through his teeth at the immediate pain. The creature looked down at him with an expression that bordered on amusement, and it changed its position to adjust to George's movements, easily out of reach of his feeble attempts to free himself. 

George continued to thrash and yell and kick until his lungs and muscles ached, but finally they reached the cool, shadowed area underneath the bridge. George made a last effort to kick his attacker before he found himself jerked painfully by his shirt collar and pinned against one of the bridge's pillars in one quick, effortless movement. Claws pointed dangerously towards his throat, and George winced, dangling his feet uselessly, feeling the cold temperature of the stone against his back seeping into his skin.

Now that he was at an arm's distance, George could smell the reek of sulfur off of the demon, mixing in with the molding reek of its breath. His eyes snapped back up to the glowing, piercing eyes, his heart thumping painfully as his panic shot through the roof. He held on desperately to his shirt collar, softly gasping for breath. Only a singular thought paced, around and around in his mind as a gusting wind of terror began to swirl within him:

_This is where I die._

His hunter raised its other arm, and the last thing George saw was its claws outstretched towards him, a blinding glow beginning to emanate from the cracks within the demon’s skin, and then nothing, as his consciousness drifted away into an endless, dark void.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings // Accidental Self-harm, mention of blood, Vomiting
> 
> George wakes up the next day and feel like he's being driven insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Wife for helping me edit this chapter <3 You're appreciated!!!

George shot awake, gasping for air as he gripped the sheets, his knuckles paling. Tears were streaming down his cheek, his eyes glazed over from sleep as his vision slowly focused. He felt pure, raw terror puncture his racing heart. Pain darted through his chest as he felt pressure against his ribcage, as if his frantic heart was attempting to break free. His breaths came in ragged, choppy, desperate heaves, like his lungs couldn’t get enough, as if he would never be able to get enough. He was only left gasping for more air.

He sobbed, clenching his eyes shut as he curled in on himself. Fire burned through his veins, tearing him from the inside out. His hand left the sheets to come and grip at his arm. He traced over goosebumps and felt a shiver wrack his body at the cold texture. Unintentionally, George dug his blunt nails into his skin as he clutched himself. Miniscule pricks of blood left red tear stains on his arms; his trembling only worsened the wounds, his nails piercing deeper below the surface. The pain grounded him, and slowly he sucked in shaky breaths before exhaling deeply and repeating the process, slowly calming down. 

His mind began to clear from the swirling disarray, and without warning, a flash of green eyes danced across his thoughts. It was only brief, but it was long enough.

George's eyes snapped open, body moving on auto pilot as he reached next to his bed to grab the metal bin resting next to his night stand. He was just able to clutch it to his chest before he retched. His throat burned, tears trickled down his face, and he felt a wave of nausea and disorientation flood over him. He continued to dry heave, his body unable to provide anything for him to reject, unable to stop itself regardless. 

George clung onto the bin like it was his lifeline as he weakly sobbed. His head was pounding, and all he could taste was bile, sending him through another wave of nausea. After what felt like hours, he inhaled, desperately trying to ignore the churning feeling in his gut as he laid back against his headboard, refusing to release the metal bin, just in case the nausea took over again. His breathing was shallow, but slowly the tears stopped flowing until the remnants stained his cheeks. Shakily, he reached up and wiped his face with the back of his sleeves, sniffling and wrinkling his nose in disgust.

The eyes pierced his mind again. An instinctual sob of horror tore through his throat, and he clasped a hand over his mouth as tears pricked at his eyes again, but there was no moisture left to allow them to fall. His whole body was wracked with shivers. His throat still burned, the headache pounded away angrily, and his mouth was dry from crying. Unsteadily, George peeled himself away from the headboard and softly set the bucket on the nightstand next to his bed, just within reach in case he needed it again. 

Clear thoughts began to stream back into his mind.  _ How had I survived? Am I even alive? Did I actually die? God, it feels like I did... _

Answers obviously didn’t come. He had no clue how he was in his bed, unscathed. The scratches he had on his legs, any claw marks, they were simply gone. Had he imagined the whole thing? George tiredly ran his hands over his face.  _ No, there’s no way. I remember the scratches, those stupid branches, the claws…I can’t be making this up. _

Early morning rays filtered through his curtains, and he flinched away, shutting his eyes firmly and curling away from the windows, positioning himself on his side in an attempt to appease his stomach. His mind was still unable to process that he wasn’t a corpse rotting away, hidden in the shadows of the forest.

_ Why did that... _ thing _ leave me alive...actually, how did I end up back home? _

He winced as a sudden  _ beep!  _ pierced through the stagnant air of his room, startling himself so hard that he nearly fell off of his bed in an attempt to scramble away from the noise. A twisting pang of fear jolted through him, panicked that the creature had returned to finish him off. 

He blinked rapidly, eyes zeroing in on his phone that lay on his nightstand, screen flashing as a cheery ringtone echoed around the room, a two hour warning before he had to leave for work. George had never been so glad to hear his alarm; a soft sigh of relief slipped from his lips as he shuffled closer to his phone, pressing 'dismiss' and gently placing the phone next to the metal bin and his glasses.

His eyes widened, and he stared incredulously at his perfectly intact glasses, the very same pair that he was sure he had destroyed completely last night in his rush to escape. George shuddered involuntarily, quickly pushing away the thought as he tenderly picked up his glasses, peering at them through awed eyes as he held them up for inspection.

They were his glasses, no doubt; the crack in the frame where he had broken them a few years ago was an easy identification. He ran a finger over the fracture, feeling the glue that he had used to piece the frame together. Not a single new dent or scratch was on the glasses, and he felt a sinking feeling of helplessness, unable to find hard evidence that he had actually experienced that nightmare last night. 

_...Just a nightmare… _

George hesitantly set his glasses down and begrudgingly rolled out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. He clasped the counter for support, feeling momentarily disoriented before bringing himself back to the present. He raised his eyes to the mirror, biting down a groan at his current appearance. Color had begun to return to his paled face, his hair was spiked up messily, and shadows danced underneath his eyes. In short, he was a disaster.

He huffed and ran his hands through his hair before setting his eyes on the shower. It was  _ very  _ inviting, so he achingly shrugged off his prespirated shirt and reached into the shower, turning the knob to start the water before yanking his hand towards his body with a gasp as the freezing water struck his skin. He took a step away, giving time for the water to heat up as a shudder ran through his body. He scrunched up his nose and glanced towards the mirror again.

He froze in his tracks, blinking rapidly and nearly collapsing as a sinking feeling of horror struck his nerves as he set his eyes on himself. Or more specifically - the mark on his shoulder. 

He stumbled closer to the mirror, gripping the counter desperately with one hand while he reached up with the other, hovering over the skin of his collarbone. With shaking, hesitant fingers, he brushed lightly over the mark, yelping as a shock nipped at his hand in return. He snatched his hand away and studied his reflection in the mirror, unable to tear his gaze away from the mark.

It was slightly carved into his skin, a sickly black color that stuck out against his complexion. Its shape could only be described to resemble a smiley face. It was crudely etched in, with wobbly curves and lines, as if it had been curated by a toddler wielding a marker. It was quite small, barely larger than a dime. 

And George had no idea how it had gotten there. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated


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